


We Were Just Seventeen

by abrasivelysilentnoisemaker



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Dissociation, Panic Attacks, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Sick Character, Welcome to the Angst™ Train, it's getting gay folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrasivelysilentnoisemaker/pseuds/abrasivelysilentnoisemaker
Summary: Kurt speculates on life (and Ram) during his stay in the hospital.





	1. Chapter 1

Kurt watched the (thankfully) steady rise and fall of Ram’s chest as the other slept. The two of them had been in the hospital for the better part of two weeks now, recovering from the gunshot wounds inflicted by Jason fucking Dean and Veronica Sawyer in the cemetery. Kurt’s injuries were healing quite nicely, according to the nurses, but Ram had been in a medicated coma since they got to the hospital. He hated to see the miles and miles of tubes hooked up to his best friend, but Kurt couldn’t help but just…watch. Keep watch. 

It wasn’t like he could sleep, anyway, even if it was nearing three in the morning, even if exhaustion was yanking on his limbs and trying to pull him under. He couldn’t let himself sleep. If he did, he would have nightmares, something bad would happen, J.D. would show up and finish the job, Ram would die, Ram would die, Ram would die—

A choked sob clawed its way out of Kurt’s throat. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Kurt turned his head and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Eyes burning and breath uneven, Kurt tried to calm himself down by thinking of something, anything other than the possibility of Ram dying. 

Kurt couldn’t remember a time when he and Ram weren’t together—they had been next-door-neighbors since they were both born, learning how to walk and talk together as their moms chatted over coffee. They had spent almost every day together as they grew older. 

A weak smile found its ways to Kurt’s face as he remembered when his sister was born. He and Ram had been seven, and boy, Kurt was not happy that he wasn’t the favorite (only) child anymore. In fact, he was so mad about it that he tried running away to camp out at the playground. And, of course, Ram joined him in a heartbeat. The two of them had managed to “survive” until past dinnertime. That was when their parents had found them. 

That wasn’t the only trouble the boys had gotten into over the years. Sixth grade was the first time they had broken into Ram’s parents’ liquor cabinet. Eighth grade brought about their first shoplifting incident. Then, of course, there were the fights ranging all the way from the start of school to a couple days before they got shot, and, of course, there were a million and one other things that they got themselves into. 

God, what he wouldn’t give to go back to simpler days. Days where they weren’t stuck in a damn hospital bed. Inhaling sharply, Kurt bit down onto his hand. Tears slipped down his cheeks as it finally, finally hit him (it had hit him days ago, too, but it hurt more and more each time). 

No. Stop. Think of something else. Different. 

What else was there even to think about? Nine years old. Learned to swim together. Eleven years old. Kurt fell out of a tree and broke his arm in six places; Ram took over holding people down and Kurt learned to hit with his right hand. Six years old. They learned to ride their bikes. Thirteen. Kurt was diagnosed with clinical depression after his mom passed away the year before. Ram never gave him shit for it. They both felt like there was something more to it, but Kurt had stopped going to the counselor after nine months. Fifteen. They kissed, drunk, at an overnight birthday party—

It had been a mistake, an alcohol-ridden decision, when they snuck off to the bathroom in the middle of the night in a fit of drunken laughter. Ram had pressed Kurt back into the wall before clumsily kissing him, too much pressure, too much teeth, too much in general, but, God, Kurt didn’t mind. At the time he had wanted more. 

Even now he wanted more, he realized, hesitantly looking over at Ram again through watery eyes. Nothing had changed from earlier. He didn’t expect it to. Would’ve been nice, though. Would’ve been nice to know that Ram wasn’t going to die any second. Nice to know that maybe, just maybe, the “suicide” note that the police had found at the crime scene held some truth. 

Would sure be nice to feel Ram’s lips against his own again. 

Kurt groaned quietly. God, he was too exhausted for this. Why couldn’t things just be…easy for once? He had long since accepted that he was gay, but he was nowhere and no way ready to admit it to anyone else. Not while living in Homophobe Central. He sure as hell couldn’t tell Ram. He wasn’t even sure if he would even be given the chance to tell Ram. 

The waterworks started up again, but it wasn’t like it had stopped to begin with. Kurt scrubbed at his eyes, trying to keep his sobs quiet. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, Ram was going to die just like his mom, wasn’t he, well, not just like his mom, his mom died because of a drunk driver, a head-on accident, and this wasn’t that, but he was still going to die, and he would never know how much Kurt fucking loved him, in every sense of the damn word, he wouldn’t be able to tell him, show him—

“Ram,” Kurt whimpered. “Ram, wake up, please, I need you to wake up, I just…fuck, I need you, Ram, please. Please…” Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, Kurt continued to mumble his pleas for the other boy to wake up, his words slurring together as exhaustion and fear clawed away together at his insides. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore. He didn’t know what he would do with Ram. All he knew is that he couldn’t do it, whatever it even was. 

Kurt fell asleep like that, arms falling limp against his chest, with Ram’s name dying on his lips. No nightmares invaded his dreams for the first time since they had been admitted, but he couldn’t know that in a few short hours he would be living a nightmare from the bed across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Paul have a bonding moment. Kind of.

Kurt stared out the truck window, barely registering the golden-brown blur that reached for the skies in the fields that streamed past. After nearly three hellish weeks he was finally going home-- _ home home home _ \--and things “would go back to normal”, as his dad had said when they were backing out of the hospital parking lot. He could almost laugh--or cry--at the thought of  _ anything _ going back to normal ever again. It was just wishful thinking, normal. What even  _ was  _ normal to begin with?

“You okay, buddy?” 

“Huh?” Kurt shifted in his seat, turning his head just enough to glance over at his dad. Paul offered him a fraction of a smile as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Something, Kurt knew, that he only did when something was pissing him off or bugging him. Kurt had gone on enough “road trips” that resulted in tongue-lashings to know his dad’s ticks.

Paul turned his attention to the road again. “That was an awful heavy sigh there.” 

“Oh.” Kurt hadn’t even realized he had done anything, too caught up in his head to notice. Fidgeting with the sling he’d be stuck with for awhile longer, he added, “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“You sure?” Paul’s voice took on a careful tone, one that he’d had since Kurt had woken up in the hospital. It had taken a couple of days for Kurt to pick up on it. Now, it made his skin crawl. It wasn’t familiar, wasn’t safe, wasn’t anything Kurt knew how to handle-- His father’s voice wedged its way into the cracks of his thoughts as he asked another question. “Anything you want to talk about?” 

_ Yeah.  _ Kurt turned away again and swallowed. “Dude, there’s nothing to talk about.” 

“Kurt--”

“Dad.” To Kurt’s relief, Paul cut himself off. Resisting the urge to curl up in the seat and surrender to the sudden burning behind his eyes and the not so sudden tightness of his chest, Kurt exhaled slowly through his nose before continuing. “I really, really don’t want to talk about it.” The drumming on the steering wheel stopped.  _ So he didn’t really want to listen. Typical.  _

“Okay, son.” Paul’s voice came out softer than Kurt was used to, softer than it had been since just after Mrs. Kelly’s death. Kurt stilled. Next to him, Paul continued as if his son hadn’t been paralyzed just a few inches away. “If you do want to talk about anything, the--the incident, the note, Ram--”

_ Ram.  _

All of the air seemed to rush out of Kurt’s lungs at once, leaving nothing but static buzzing--hissing?--through his chest, surging through his veins to make his lips tingle and fingertips numb. The golds and browns and blues and grays outside the truck all blurred together into something unrecognizable and then Kurt was back in the cemetery, back in the mild chill of a Midwestern night with the sun just beginning to creep up over the edge of the world.

_ “One...two…” _

_ “Three.”  _

_ Two gunshots bounced around Kurt’s skull. Before he could even think to try and figure out where they had come from, why they were so close, Ram pitched forward and fell to the ground. As Kurt stared at the prone form of his best friend, all he could see was red, red, red pooling underneath him. _

_ “Ram?”  _

_ The sound of footsteps and a metallic click from behind him snapped his flight response into place and he bolted through the scattered gravestones. Terrified shrieks ripped their way from his lungs; unknown words spilled from his throat to wrap around his chest until he couldn’t breathe and then there was a fence and he was trying to climb it, ignoring the bite of metal into his skin, a bear trap, J.D. materializing and spouting off some bullshit about dinosaurs and then another gunshot and then-- _

_ Then everything was white and Kurt’s chest hurt hurt hurt and somebody was screaming as nurses flooded the bed next to him. Between the gaps in bodies and chatter he could see Ram’s body spasming against the bed, a marionette with an amateur puppeteer and hear the monitors shrieking at them all to do something. He could see Ram collapsing, strings cut. Hear the constant drone of a broken heart.  _

_ But the screaming continued and someone was shaking his shoulder shaking his shoulder shaking-- _

Kurt jerked away from the hand touching him. Dimly, he realized that they had pulled over just outside of town. Why had they stopped? Why-- _ Oh. Dad’s talking _ . Turning his head, he saw Paul’s hand hovering anxiously over his shoulder. Kurt could see the uncertainty in his eyes and the arguments twisting around in his dad’s head as he struggled between the usual “buck up” or “comfort my traumatized son.”  _ Just like the good ol’ days.  _ He almost laughed.

“Kurt?” Paul asked cautiously as he lowered his hand onto his shoulder again.“Kurt, buddy, you back with me?”

Nodding, Kurt sluggishly pushed his dad’s hand away again. “M’fine,” he muttered. When Paul raised an eyebrow, Kurt swallowed and repeated himself a little louder. “I’m fine. Can we just get home already, dude?” 

“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Casting a final glance at his son, Paul carefully pulled back onto the road. The only sounds in the truck now were the radio and the returned  _ tap tap tap _ of Paul’s fingers. 

Nausea rolled over Kurt as the truck lurched forward again. Curling his uninjured arm around his middle, he returned to watching out the window and tried to stop his brain from circling back to the Bad Thing. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to  _ remember  _ it. But if the mere mention of Ram’s name shot him brain-first back to that night in the cemetery, then--

_ No. Stop.  _ Clenching his jaw, Kurt tried to focus on steadying his breathing. When he couldn’t keep a steady rhythm in his head, he tried to match the beat of the song playing on the radio. As his breathing finally slowed into something resembling normal, he faded out.

When Kurt came back to himself, he was back home, standing with his father just inside the door. He frowned to himself.  _ I don’t remember getting home.  _ His brain felt fuzzy. Paul’s voice filtered through the static as the door shut with a click. “...want to go to your room?”

Kurt nodded slowly before peeling off his shoes and hesitating just slightly at the prospect of climbing the stairs. Ignoring his dad’s (hesitant) offers of assistance, he slowly padded upstairs to his room, closing and locking the door behind him. 

The room looked exactly the same as it had the night Kurt and Ram went to the cemetery. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Kurt slid down the door and pulled his knees up to his chest. It looked normal. Like nothing had ever happened. _ Maybe it didn’t. _ Repeating that a couple of times, Kurt let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and let himself look around to the messy bed in the corner, to the clutter on the desk, to the posters and pictures on the wall. He quickly looked away from the pictures--too many had Ram in them, were of Ram, untainted by the smell of copper or the sterility of the hospital, eyes bright and  _ seeing _ , mouth open in a wide smile as he turned to say something to Kurt--their faces close, too close--Kurt looked at the pictures again.

Age six. Faces sticky with popsicles in the summer, faces smooshed together to make sure they were both in frame. 

Eleven. On a fishing trip with their dads--a make-up fishing trip if Kurt remembered correctly, all because Bill and Paul had decided to  _ not  _ take them the time before. Or the time before that. 

Fourteen. Their first game in high school. A  loss, a bad one, but Ram’s grin flashed at him like they’d won the entire season.

Seventeen. Right before the start of senior year and oddly mirroring the picture from when they were six. Kurt’s arm was draped across Ram’s shoulders, yanking him close for the spontaneous picture that Paul had demanded. He remembered how hot it was in August, the air sticky and humid but they still couldn’t get too close to each other, not when it was for another memento to put on the wall. He remembered how Ram’s laugh bubbled up from somewhere in his throat, how their faces turned towards each other, how he really wanted to lean forward and kiss him. 

“Fuck,” he said simply. 

Kurt didn’t know how long he sat there; he didn’t know what went through his head. When a sharp knock sounded behind him, though (and he jumped--but nobody needed to know), his lower half was numb and a dull ache pulsed through his shoulder. “What?”

“Hey, buddy.” Paul’s voice still had the soft tone that he had earlier. “Bill’s here. He...uh, we need to talk to you about something. About the note found with you and Ram.”

_ Fuck.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, have a thing
> 
> as usual, if you want to yell at me come find me at abrasivelysilentnoisemaker@tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear diary,  
> I look around at these kids I've known all my life and ask myself, "What happened?"
> 
> In other words, Kurt goes back to school and boy, does it suck.
> 
> Warning for language use, specifically the f-slur.

      Kurt slouched through the hallways of the school, his backpack slung precariously over his good shoulder. It was his first day back and boy, did he not want to be there. Not like he ever did before--well, maybe, once, when he still cared about life--before Mom up and left him on this shithole of a planet--but everything seemed to be particularly heavy now. Suffocating even. God, for a school of maybe five hundred people max, why was it so _crowded_? Sure, it was lunchtime, but _damn_.

      Grunting as some scrawny freshman shoved past him, Kurt eased his way towards the edge of the fray. A few glances flicked his way and he could almost see what they were thinking-- _the big bad quarterback not jumping down someone’s throat? It’s a fuckin’ miracle_. As soon as Kurt met their eyes, they quickly turned away. _Good. Fuck them_.

      To Kurt’s dismay, the cafeteria was no emptier than the hallways had been. Or maybe it was just him. He had been pretty isolated for the past few (several) weeks, after all. Shrugging off the uneasiness, he got in line to receive whatever slop the public school system decided to serve today. Kurt tried to ignore the mindless chattering static that surrounded him as he shuffled closer to the front. That is, until he picked up on his own name in the mix.

      “Look, Kurt’s back.”

      “Who cares about a faggot? C’mon.”

       It felt like a bucket of ice had been unceremoniously dumped over his head. _Shrug it off, big guy_.

      He couldn’t. Instead, he turned to see who was talking shit about him and found a couple of guys he vaguely recognized from one of his classes staring straight at him. When they noticed him looking, one of them smirked, motioned between the two of them, and mimed giving a blowjob with an eyebrow raised.

      Scowling, he flipped them off and turned back around. Inside, though, panic started to eat away at him, leaving gaping holes in his lungs that left no room for air. Why were they calling him a faggot? Is that why people kept staring at him? Not because he was their wounded football star, returning from the brink of death?

      He cringed. _God, that has to be the most faggoty thing I’ve ever thought_. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take deep breaths. _Bring it down. It’s not that bad. It’s not. It’s just a couple of dudes being asshats. Just like you_. Still, he couldn’t shake it off. Then he remembered what had happened just a few nights before.

    _Kurt leaned back in the hard wooden chair, pointedly not looking at either of the men sitting across from him. Between them, on the table, rested the note that had apparently been clenched in his hand when he had been found in the cemetery. He didn’t want to talk about this, no, not with them, not with anybody, he wanted to be left alone, yet--_

_“It’s okay if you’re gay,” Bill said suddenly, breaking the silence. Startled, Kurt glanced up. Paul looked as uncomfortable as Kurt felt._

_“I’m not gay,” Kurt interjected before either man could say anything further. “I didn’t write that.”_

_Bill and Paul glanced at each other. “It’s your handwriting, Kurt,” Paul muttered._

_Swallowing, Kurt glanced at the note. It definitely looked like his, but-- “Dude, I didn’t write it!”_

_Nonplussed, Bill continued speaking as though Kurt hadn’t interrupted. “We know that it’s...difficult to be yourself, especially around here.”_

_Paul cleared his throat. “Well, what Bill is trying to say,” he started slowly, drumming his fingers against the table, “is that even though you’ve made our family the laughingstock of the town--and Ram, his--”_

_Bill’s chair scraped against the floor as he jumped to his feet. “You wait just a minute, Paul,” he almost yelled, waving his hand. Kurt wondered how much beer the man had drank beforehand. Before he could ask, Bill was continuing his tirade. “It’s talk like that that made our boys--our_ sons _\--feel like this isn’t a world they can live in. They’re not dirty, or--or wrong for being gay, they’re just different.”_

_Kurt wished he could just melt away through the floorboards and stop existing. Instead, the best he could do was try to tune him out--which, to his credit, worked until he noticed that his own dad had stood and was trying to edge his way out of the room. And then Bill grabbed Paul’s wrist. “I’m talking you and me, Paul, in the summer of ‘83.”_

_There was silence for a moment before Paul said, almost shyly, “That was one hell of a fishing trip.” Then, to Kurt’s abject horror, they kissed each other. And continued kissing each other as though they had completely forgotten their original purpose of meeting. They didn’t even notice as Kurt stood, picked up the note, and walked out._

     God, how Kurt wanted to walk out now. Nobody else should know about the note. It appeared that they did anyway. The grating voice of the cafeteria worker brought Kurt back to earth as she shoved a tray towards him. “Have a nice day,” she droned, her voice devoid of expression. Kurt jerkily nodded as he picked up his tray with one hand and turned to scan the cafeteria. Without thinking, his feet automatically carried him towards a table in the center of the room where he had sat for the past three and a half years. Kurt whispered a quick prayer. “Please, God, don’t turn the team against me, too.”

     The loud peals of laughter and probably uncouth jokes died down almost as soon as Kurt reached the table. “Hey, guys,” Kurt said, his voice cracking. Cringing, he looked from face to face to see varying levels of disgust and mockery. Something cold settled into the pit of his stomach. It was heavy, a fully-grown python waiting to wake up and strangle him, and only became heavier when Jared stood. Kurt stared at him. They had been on the starting lineup together since sophomore year, been something like brothers, but Kurt had a feeling that was over.

     “Cafeteria’s got a no fags allowed rule, remember, Kelly?” he jeered. His grin widened as a couple of the guys snickered behind him. The snake began to move and squeeze Kurt from the inside out, leaving ice in its wake. He tried to spur it into something hotter. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” he responded tiredly. Kurt stood his ground when anger flared up on Jared’s face, ready to defend himself--or at the very least fling his tray at him--but he didn’t have to. Another teammate had grabbed Jared’s arm and yanked him back down.

      “Too old to be starting shit,” he muttered to Jared. Kurt froze, almost losing his grip on his tray. Then the boy added the final blow. “You might get AIDS if you fight him.” Laughter rippled throughout the entire table. Knowing a losing battle when he saw one and too on edge now to fight back, Kurt grit his teeth and walked away, followed by urges to end his life.

      By the time Kurt found an empty table in the cafeteria, any lingering anger had drained away. He knew he should still be angry, should be trying to prove their accusations wrong, but…

      _What’s the point?_

      As he opened a bag of chips and mechanically popped one into his mouth--he was only eating out of habit, he hadn’t been hungry in weeks--another grim thought crossed his mind. _What if I actually did kill myself?_

_Stop._ Kurt shoved the thought down hard. It wasn’t as though it was the first time he had thought about it, but it wasn’t like he would--or could--actually go through with it. Shaking his head, Kurt sullenly tried to keep his brain from circling back to the inevitability of his own death. _Think about Dad. Elly. Mom--no. Football. Ram--_

      “Kurt?” His head shot up to meet a flash of blue. Throat tightening, he looked up further and met Veronica’s eyes.

      _A phone is ringing. An invitation for free pussy._

_Loud, off-key drunken singing on the drive over to the cemetery._

_Nervous giggling from her, from Ram, as he and Ram strip down to almost nothing._

_Counting, one, two--_

_Bang._

_Kurt bolts past the mess of blue and red that is Veronica, ignoring her panicked shouts, the rocks and twigs nipping at his bare feet, the metal caging and squeezing his flesh as he stares at J.D., at Veronica as she appears behind J.D. She tries to pull J.D.’s unrelenting arm down. Red coats her shirt, her hands, her face._ Shoulda stayed out of the splash zone _Kurt thinks dazedly._

_Screaming._

_Rambling about God and dust and dinosaurs--_

_“What does that even mean!?”_

_Bang._

_“What the fuck have you done!?”_

      “...wanted to sit with you.” Veronica’s voice broke through the bubble in Kurt’s head. Dimly, he realized he was standing ( _When did I get up?_ ), muscles screaming to run, run, _run_. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he slowly focused his vision back on Veronica. She seemed to be as tense as she was, shoulders hunched and fingers wrapped tightly around the ends of her tray. Yet, Kurt noticed with a grim sort of pride, she hadn’t looked away from him. Yet.

      When he finally spoke, his voice sounded like it was underwater, all muffled and distant and not at all like himself. “What?”

      Veronica chewed her lip for a moment. Shifting her weight uneasily, she repeated herself, her voice rising as she spoke. “I asked if I could sit with you. And, uh, apologize for what happened. I just wanted to see if there’s anything I can do. Maybe.”

      Something dark bubbled up his throat. “Are you actually talking to me right now?” he hissed. “You think that you can walk up to me like you didn’t do jack shit? No! You don’t get to do that!” He was only vaguely aware that he was yelling now, that people were staring at him, at her, could hear the snickers from the table over. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. “You can’t just shoot me and Ram with your psycho boyfriend and expect us to be buddy-buddy after!”

      Fear crossed Veronica’s face before smoothing out into something like understanding. Or sympathy. Or pity. Kurt had never been good at reading faces. Before he could bother trying, Veronica said quietly, “He forced me to. But I understand, I just--”

      “You don’t understand shit,” Kurt spat. “Sit here if you want.” Leaving his tray, he all but fled the cafeteria. Staticky voices chased after him.

       Kurt slipped between the people still loitering in the hallways, ignoring a teacher’s disgruntled shout when he almost knocked her over. Ringing took sound’s place as he almost slid into the English hallway, bearing down on his head, his shoulders, his chest, he couldn’t _breathe_ \--

_Freshman year. Boy’s restroom. After getting a bad grade on another grammar test. “Easy, buddy, breathe,” Ram whispered, holding Kurt’s face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away tears just beneath his eyes. “I’ll help you study.” Biting back a “you’re worse off than me”, Kurt nodded._

_Stop._ Kurt slowed at the end of the hallway, near the exit, his heart pounding and breath coming in broken chunks. There were fewer people down this hallway, but even here Kurt couldn’t escape the whispers and stares that managed to filter through the ringing. He started moving again.

      _Run away like the coward you are. Didn’t even stick behind to see if Ram was okay._

      The ringing started to turn into radio static as he bolted out of the school. Overhead, the sun mocked him, refusing to reach the icy chill that flooded his lungs, ignoring the darkness creeping into the corners of his vision, didn’t ease the paranoia that he was being chased, he was being chased, he was _being chased_ \--

      Kurt didn’t slow again until he reached the football field. In fact, he wouldn’t have at all except he tripped as he reached the turf. Or, at least, onto what remained of the field. What used to be his home away home was nothing but a crater punched into the face of the earth. The crunching of charred grass joined the static  as he edged forward and memories of whispers from his stay in the hospital echoed in his head.

    _“Jason Dean...suicide…”_

    _“...bomb at the school...”_

      Kurt found himself staggering down the side of the hole, struggling to remain upright as the ash and dust shifted underneath him and coated his sneakers a smoky gray. Numbness had begun to spread from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet as he stumbled to the epicenter of where everything had started for him and gone up in a plume of smoke at a moment’s notice thanks to J.D.

      Staring blankly at the carnage around him, Kurt paid no mind to the muffled shouting that was growing in volume-- _It’s not real not real not real_ \--until a squawk from behind him made him realize something. Everything _hurt_. Suddenly someone was talking, someone was whimpering, someone was squeezing his shoulder, someone was sobbing--

      A blur of reds and yellows and oranges darting nervously in front of him was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, finally back at it again with some Angst™
> 
> come hunt me down at abrasivelysilentnoisemaker.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurt bonds with people. 
> 
> Also, ya boy's back in business.

      He didn’t return to school for another week after the incident on the football field. Instead, he sulked at home, hiding in his room and refusing to talk to his dad or sister or Ms. Fleming when she inevitably stopped by (it didn’t surprise him--she was the one who had found him on the field, after all). He was fine, swore he was  _ just fine _ staying curled up in bed and staring at nothing as static buzzed around his head, prodding him to get up, daring him to shut it up in the only way he knew how--

_“A temporary solution_ ,” a voice in the back of his head reminded him, “ _and you’re too much of a pussy to chase the permanent route._ ” Grunting, Kurt rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head as if that would block his own thoughts.

      Of course, it didn’t work. Of course, his brain just kept flashing the same images, repeating the same words, the same sounds, skipping over and over and over and over.  _ Bang. Red. Cold. Fear. Bang. Red. Cold. Fear. Ram. Ram. Ram. Bang.  _

     His throat cinched shut as the phantom gunshot rattled around in his skull. Scrambling to yank the blanket back down, Kurt sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re fine,” he mumbled. “Just fine.” Letting out a slow breath, he leaned back against the headboard and wrapped the blanket more securely around himself. 

     He hated this. He hated himself. He hated how his brain kept skipping around like a broken record. He hated how he heard knocking, heard Elly open the door, heard her yell his name. He hated how he actually got up (he could never ignore Elly), the blanket a cape (a shield) draped over his shoulders, hated how he dragged himself down the stairs, hated how he wanted to scream when he saw who was at the door. 

     “How many girlfriends do you have?” Elly asked, looking back at him. 

     “Zero,” he answered, and promptly shut the door in Heather Mac, Martha, and Veronica’s faces. The knocking immediately started again. _ Stubborn bitches.  _

     Elly put her hands on her hips. “Um, rude. I’m gonna tell Dad.” 

     “I don’t care.” Kurt turned to go back upstairs. Before he could even reach the first step, he could hear Elly reopening the front door. “Elizabeth Bernice Kelly, don’t you dare--”

     “Kurtis Jackson Kelly, you are going to sit your butt down and talk to us,” Heather demanded. Kurt didn’t turn around until he heard the the girls step inside and door click shut. 

_      Fuck.  _ Scowling, he begrudgingly faced them. 

     Heather was standing in front of Veronica and Martha, arms crossed tightly over her chest and face set like stone. Kurt knew it wouldn’t last. It never did with the soft-spoken girl, and sure enough, after a few seconds her expression softened. “Kurt, please.” 

     Kurt remained silent for a moment before sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair. “Fine.” He gestured to the living room. “Go on in, make yourselves at home, princesses.” After a moment of consideration, he turned to Elly. “Go to your room.” 

     “What? Why?” Elly’s scowl was one to rival Kurt’s own. “You’re not the boss of me.” 

     “I am when Dad’s not home,” Kurt growled. “‘Sides, you’re not supposed to answer the door. Not without one of us downstairs with you.” 

     Elly’s scowl only deepened, but listened, spinning on her heel and stomping up the stairs, muttering something about how life wasn’t fair. Shaking his head, Kurt looked towards the other girls. “Well? Go on.” 

     Heather gently tugged Martha and an uncomfortable looking Veronica into the living room. Briefly, Kurt considered just going back upstairs, but Heather would most likely follow.  _ Might as well get this over with.  _

     The girls had already situated themselves on the couch--Heather looked all prim and proper with her hands folded neatly in her lap, Martha was looking around the room with curiosity in her eyes, and Veronica--well. Veronica looked as on edge as Kurt felt. He pointedly looked away from her as he settled himself in the armchair across from them.

     Almost as soon as Kurt’s rear touched the cushions, a white ball of pure fluff darted out from behind the couch, leapt into his lap and started purring loudly. In spite of himself, a smile tugged at Kurt’s lips as he scooped the cat close to his chest. “Hi, girl,” he murmured, running a hand down her back. His smile widened a little more when she rubbed her head up against his chin.

     Martha beamed, letting out a quiet coo of affection. “What’s the kitty’s name?” she asked. 

     “Snowball.” Kurt didn’t look at the girls, focusing his attention almost solely on the cat. “I’ve had her since I was twelve.”  _ Since Mom died.  _ Cringing internally, he glanced up. “So what the hell do you want?”

     Both Veronica and Martha looked to Heather. Heather chewed her lip thoughtfully before answering. “We wanted to check up on you,” she started slowly.

     “Like, you did come back to school for only one day before you vanished again,” Martha added. 

     “And? Mind your own business.” Kurt carefully shifted Snowball’s position on his chest. He didn’t want to talk about what happened on the field. Or in the cafeteria, for that matter.

     Heather had other ideas. Of course. “Listen, I think we all agree that what happened in the lunch room was unfair to Veronica--”

     “Bullshit.” Kurt stared at Heather incredulously. “I think it was completely fair after what her psycho ass and that psycho freak did at the cemetery.” 

     “I’m right here,” Veronica interjected meekly. 

     Kurt ignored her. “It’s like, ‘oh, yeah, I lured him and his best friend into a trap to get fucking murdered, let’s be best friends with him!’ Like, does she think this is a soap opera or--or some bad movie or something? I just want to be left  _ alone _ .” 

     “That’s a lie and you and I both know it.” Heather leaned forward. The look on her face was something serious--no, dangerous. Kurt knew that look and he knew he was powerless against it. He always had been. “Listen to me and listen to me closely, Kurt,” Heather continued, “do you want to be completely alone for the rest of your senior year or do you want a group of people who genuinely  _ care  _ about you and your well-being?” 

     “I…” Kurt exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together.  _ What is she getting at?  _ God, he was so tired of head games. “I’m not  _ completely _ alone, you asshole, I have the guys--” 

     “The same ones who wouldn’t let you sit with them because you’re gay?”

     “I’m not gay!” Kurt burst out, sitting up straight. Snowball meowed in displeasure and jumped down. Bunching the blanket in his hands, Kurt forced himself to relax. “They’re just--they’re just being assholes. Like usual. They’re just kidding.” 

     It sounded fake to his own ears, and the sympathetic looks on Heather’s and Martha’s faces reflected that. Veronica just watched on uneasily as Heather continued to pick her way under Kurt’s skin. “We just want you to be okay,” Heather said. “We care about you.” 

     Kurt laughed, surprising everyone in the room, including himself. “Sounds fake, but okay. I mean, like, why? I’ve been a jerk to you since we broke up.” He pointed at Martha. “I’ve been a complete asshole to you since first grade. And she,” his voice dropped as he pointed to Veronica, “wanted me fucking dead--”

     “I told you J.D. made me do it!” Veronica cried out. Kurt blinked and finally looked at her. Her face was white, her hands curled into fists in her lap. When Kurt realized she was shaking, he almost felt bad. Almost. 

     Veronica wasn’t done speaking. “You’re not the only one who’s fucked up by what J.D. did, Kurt. What happened in the cemetery, that...that was bad, and none of it should have happened. None of us should have been there. But listen to me, please,” she pleaded, twisting her hands together. “J.D. told me that we were just supposed to knock you and Ram out with tranquilizers. He didn’t tell me they were real bullets. I-I know it’s fucked up, but after what you guys did to  _ me _ \--what you were going to do to Heather...it just felt...justified.” She hung her head. “But, J.D. took it too far.” 

     “No shit.” Kurt slumped back in the chair. The conversation was leaving him tired and exhausted and achy and just plain  _ done _ . Quiet, he added, “I’ve been an asshole to you, too.” 

     “We want to move past it.” Veronica smiled weakly. “Maybe we could, I dunno, be friends? Or at least not hate each other?” 

     “If I agree will you all get out of my house?” When all three girls nodded, Kurt groaned. “Fine. Whatever.” 

     Heather’s face morphed from conniving to sunny so quickly it would’ve spooked Kurt if he hadn’t been used to it. “Excellent!” she chirped, squeezing Veronica’s hand. “Our friend group is growing.”

     Shaking his head, Kurt stood. “We’re not friends.” 

     “We will be.” Heather stood, pulling Veronica and Martha up with her. “But for now, we’ll be on our way. Walk us to the door?” Kurt sighed before standing up himself.

     As they started down the front steps, he faltered before closing the door. “I--.” 

      They looked back at him. “You?” Heather prompted. 

     “...I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before Kurt could react Martha squealed and hugged him. Wincing, he awkwardly patted her shoulder. “O-okay, okay.” 

     Pulling back, Martha beamed. “Sorry, this is just so exciting!” 

     “Keep telling yourself that.” Watching as they ( _ finally _ ) left after a few more brief goodbyes, Kurt retreated indoors, slumping against the door. 

_      What the hell just happened? _

     Shrugging it off, he padded back upstairs. Briefly he thought of just going back to bed, but he remembered something more important and bypassed his room altogether to rap his knuckles against Elly’s door. 

     Met with a disgruntled noise, Kurt jiggled the knob before pushing the door open. He smiled a little when he saw Elly sprawled on her bed, book in hand. “Hey.” 

     “Hey yourself,” she answered nonchalantly. She didn’t look up, but Kurt could see the way her shoulders bunched together, the way she was chewing her lip, the way she rubbed her hand across her eyes--

     He crossed the room and draped himself over her, wrapping her inside the blanket. “Heeeeeeeey.” 

     Elly squirmed beneath him. “Get off of me, you giant--giant ape.” 

     “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Kurt fell to the side, keeping his arm around her. He didn’t know what was wrong ( _ probably me _ ), and he wouldn’t ask ( _ I rarely do _ ), but he would do what he could to make it go away ( _ I owe it to her _ ). 

     He picked up her book from where she had dropped it. “What are you reading?” 

     “ _ Rasselas _ ,” she answered quietly, curling into him. Kurt paused before setting the book back down, careful not to lose her page.  _ Oh. Elly, honey _ . Their mom had absolutely adored  _ Rasselas _ , reading and rereading it and telling them time and time again how she had written a fiftieth chapter for a teacher that hated her writing and got an A+ “against all odds.” Kurt himself had never been interested in reading it, but of course his bookworm of a sister would. 

     Ruffling her hair, he not so subtly changed the subject. “It’s pizza night tonight. What toppings do you want?” 

     Confusion crossed Elly’s face as she looked up at him. “It’s your turn to pick.” 

     “I’ll pick next week.” 

     “Will you be here next week?” Elly froze as as soon as the words left her mouth, pinching her mouth shut. 

     Uneasiness slid up Kurt’s throat. “What?”

     “Nothing.” Elly darted off the bed and to the door. “Race you downstairs!” 

     “Oh, you’re on.” Kurt chased after her. Even though they were both choosing to pretend nothing happened, Kurt couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

 

* * * * *

 

     Things were odd now, to say the least, and had been for almost two weeks now. Kurt had been sitting with Heather, Veronica, and Martha almost every day at lunch. Sometimes they were joined by Betty and Dwight, who seemed to be a thing, but Kurt didn’t ask. They were...an odd group, to say the least. But, Kurt found himself more comfortable than he had been in years. He just couldn’t place  _ why _ . 

     “Ready to go?”

     “Huh?” Kurt blinked, pulled back to earth, and looked at Veronica. “Oh. Yeah.Let’s go.” They had gotten into the habit after Martha berated him for a full lunch hour one day for walking to and from school. Kurt still wasn’t comfortable being alone with Veronica--perfectly valid in his opinion--but it beat walking ( _ what kind of athlete are you _ ) or riding the bus. 

     As of yet, neither had made a move to break the silence on their drives until they had pulled into the Kellys’ driveway. Until today, that is. Veronica kept making half-hearted comments about things such as school and the weather. Kurt had a vague feeling that Heather had put her up to this.

     “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.” 

     Startled, she glanced over at him before returning her attention to the road. “Do what?” 

     “This.” Kurt gestured vaguely. “Give me rides. Talk to me.” He cracked a smile. “I know I’m the best thing you’ve seen in your entire life, but if you don’t want me, you don’t want me.”

     Kurt realized the grim irony in what he just said as Veronica remained silent for a solid minute. “If you actually mean that,” she said quietly, “then you’ve changed.” 

     “I know.” 

     The two fell into a mildly more comfortable silence than usual until they pulled into the Kellys’ driveway. “Thanks for the ride,” Kurt muttered.

     Veronica smiled weakly. “No problem. See you tomorrow. Oh, and Kurt?” 

     He paused. “Yeah?”

     “I really do want to try and be friends with you.” 

     Kurt smiled as little. “Sure you do, buddy.” As he got out, he caught a glimpse of Veronica fighting back a smile of her own. His smile widened as he trudged up the front steps of the house.  _ Maybe everything will be okay after all.  _

     The crunch of gravel caught his attention. Next door, the Sweeneys’ car had just pulled into their own driveway. Kurt watched as first Bill, then his wife stepped out. Then his keys were sliding out of suddenly shaking fingers and he couldn’t  _ breathe, _ his breath trapped somewhere between his lungs and his throat and leaving shards of glass embedded in his insides. 

     Ram was the first to notice him. “Hey, Kurt,” he called, a wide, sunny grin spreading over his face. “Your boy’s back in business!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would die for elly
> 
> come yell at me at abrasivelysilentnoisemaker.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys are back in town

            Kurt was staring.

            Staring and not caring, because the last time he had seen his best friend Ram had still been down for the count and practically drowning in wires and tubes and probable death. Looking at him now, though, you wouldn’t think he’d been in the hospital for nearly two months. He was the picture of fucking health, eyes bright and sparkling, skin no longer practically translucent from blood loss, movements fluid and (mostly) unbothered by pain. There was still a certain stiffness when he tried turning his head, but Kurt figured that was to be expected from a bullet basically taking a bite out of your neck.

            “Dude, you’re staring again.”

            “Sorry.” Kurt looked away only to glance back a moment later. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t believe Ram was back home and _okay_ when for so long it was a toss in the air as to whether or not he’d pull through at all.

            “It’s okay.” Ram smirked. “I know you’ve been starving for a glimpse of how hot I am.”

            Kurt lightly punched his arm before slumping back against the couch. Staring again, probably, but he _still_ couldn’t find it in himself to care. _Ram doesn’t seem to care, either, so it’s fine. Probably._ “I’m just…glad you’re home, man.”

            “Me, too.” Ram’s face shifted to something unreadable for just a moment before relaxing into a soft grin. “I can actually have good food now.”

            A quiet chuckle tumbled from Kurt’s lips. “Yeah, hospital food sucks ass.” Ram nodded in agreement before letting his head loll back to rest on the cushions, allowing silence to fill in the gap between them. He didn’t say anything, or really _do_ anything to suggest as much, but Kurt could practically see the exhaustion rolling off his best friend. Ram might be home, but he still had some recovering to do. Kurt knew the drill; he was an old hand by this point. “Hey.”

            “Hey yourself.”

            “I…I should probably head home. See you tomorrow?”

            Ram nodded again. “Duh.”

 

* * * * *

                Nothing was more welcome than sleep when Kurt finally ( _finally_ ) collapsed into bed that night. Of course, like every other night that week, his brain had other ideas and was positively _cackling_ at his futile attempts to find a comfortable position that wasn’t too hot, or too cold, or didn’t have something nonexistent digging into his spine, his ribs—

            Groaning, Kurt tossed the blankets off and ran his fingers through his curls as he sat up. The room was dark save for a sliver of light coming in from the street, but for once, the darkness (and what came with it) wasn’t the problem. Instead, energy had replaced the usual exhaustion, thrumming just underneath his skin to keep him awake and restless and—

            It had only been a few hours since Kurt had returned home from the Sweeneys’, but he was already itching to go back.

            _I want to see Ram._

Kurt didn’t remember getting out of bed or pulling on a _probably_ clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and shoes or clambering down the stairs. But just as he reached the front door, a voice yanked him back to himself and had his hand jerking back from the handle as though there were a fire on the other side.

            “Where do you think you’re going?” Paul asked wearily. He was stretched out on the couch, beer in hand. The television across the room was turned down to a dull buzz.

            “Um…” Kurt awkwardly shifted his weight, fighting the urge to scratch at his wrist, his face, anything. “Out.”

            With a grunt, Paul struggled until he was sitting. “You know how I feel about you going out after dark, Kurt.” Something unsaid was laced through his words, snaking around to coil snugly around Kurt’s chest. Before Kurt had the chance to respond, Paul was speaking again. “’Sides, it’s almost,” he paused to glance at the wall clock,” 11:30. Where would you be going this late?”

            Kurt absently rubbed the back of his neck. “Ram’s.”

            Paul visibly relaxed. “I see.”

            “Can I go then?” Kurt asked hopefully.

            Instead of answering, Paul responded with another question. “Don’t you think you should give him a chance to settle in?”

            Kurt all but deflated and leaned against the doorframe. “I guess,” he said quietly.

            An emotion Kurt couldn’t quite pinpoint stirred on Paul’s face before the man patted the cushion next to him. Reluctantly, Kurt padded across the room and dropped down next to his father; to his surprise, Paul wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Kurt rested his head on Paul’s shoulder. The two remained that way for awhile, Paul making the occasional comment on whatever was happening on the screen and Kurt…well, he was there.

In spite of the nervous energy crawling just beneath his skin, Kurt found himself relaxing. It was…nice. Spending time with Paul where insults weren’t slung back and forth was phenomenal. Eventually, though, Paul ushered Kurt back to bed and this time, once his head hit the pillow, he was gone.

            For the first night in weeks, he didn’t dream at all.

 

* * * * *

           

            School couldn’t end soon enough for Kurt.

            Sure, dealing with the rumors (which he had since found out were spread by Heather Duke, but he didn’t yet know _how_ she knew about the note) and jeers (directed by none other than the football team) was more than enough to make him detest being in the damn place. Now, though, he had another incentive.

            Ram.

            Almost forgetting to say goodbye to Veronica, he started towards the neighbors’ before remembering something—someone—a little more important. Sighing internally, Kurt redirected himself towards his own house and went inside.

            “Elly?” he called as he dropped his bookbag to the floor. “You home?”

            “Where else would I be?” came the disgruntled reply from the living room. Poking his head through the doorway, Kurt found Elly huddled on the floor underneath a blanket with her homework spread across the entirety of the coffee table. Something seemed…off, but Kurt couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

 Elly rubbed tiredly at her eyes, but she didn’t look up from the book in front of her. “Go ahead.”

            “Uh…what?”

            With a sigh, Elly pinched the bridge of her nose. “I already know you want to go see your boyfriend, so go ahead. I don’t even know why you bothered coming home.”

            Kurt felt his face go red. “He’s not my boyfriend. And I came home to check on you.”

            “And I’m fine.” Elly waved her hand dismissively. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have stuff to do.”

            “Call if you need anything, okay, short stuff?” After getting acknowledgement and a “now _leave_ ” from Elly, Kurt left the house again and all but ran over to the Sweeneys’ front door. He wasn’t _rushing_ or anything, no, he was just…walking. Fast. Fast enough to almost slip on the thin layer of ice coating the front steps.

            Anyway.

            Soon he was settled on one of the bean bag chairs in Ram’s room. Ram himself was sprawled on his stomach across his bed. Kurt glanced around the room (again)—it was the first time he had been in it since before the cemetery, and, like his own room, looked like it hadn’t changed at all, from the dresser in the corner to the television perched on a wooden trunk that had belonged to Ram’s uncle to the pictures and posters scattered on the walls.

            It was a relief.

            The feeling of relief was yanked unceremoniously out from under him when Ram changed topics for the eighth time in the two hours he’d been there. “So how’s school been?”

            “Since when do you care about school?” Kurt replied automatically. _Damn mouth on auto-pilot._

Ram shrugged. “It kind of sucks being stuck at home all day. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but…” He trailed off with a grimace.

            “She won’t leave you alone,” Kurt finished. “Dad’s the same way.”

            “Yeah. Now answer my question.”

            Kurt sunk further into the bean bag chair. On one hand, he didn’t want to tell Ram just how _awful_ school had become, even if he had the “Dream Squad” (as Martha had started calling the group) to back him up. The rumors hadn’t eased up at all like they usually did when something else, usually another target, appeared.

            On the other hand, though, Ram was going to find out eventually, anyway. _Maybe it’ll be easier on him._

_School sucks._

            “School sucks,” Kurt said with a decisive nod.

            “No shit?” Ram rolled onto his back and looked at Kurt upside down. “Hasn’t it always?”

            Keeping his gaze somewhere near the corner of the room, Kurt nodded. “Well, yeah, but it’s gotten…worse. Because of…uh…what happened. With us.”

            “…does this have anything to do with the note?”

            Startled, Kurt jerked as much as one can in a bean bag chair and looked at Ram. “You know about the note?”

            “Dad told me about it. It’s bullshit, there’s no way we wrote that.” Ram’s eyebrows scrunched together. “We didn’t write it, right?”

            “What? No, of course not.” Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, fingers digging into the sleeves of his jacket. They may not have wrote it, but… His chest tightened with his next thought. _Kinda wish we did._ Taking a deep breath, Kurt shook his head. “It was Jason fucking Dean. I fucking know it,” he said bitterly.

            Ram sat up. “You think so?”

            There was a pause. Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Do…do you remember anything about what happened?” The band around his chest _squeezed_ at the possibility only he had to suffer from the memories. He didn’t know if it was good or bad.

            “No,” Ram stated plainly, crossing his arms to mirror Kurt’s. “What do _you_ remember?”

            _Everything._ “It’s…fuzzy,” Kurt lied. “It all just seems like a bad dream, you know?” Kurt’s fingers strayed to his shoulder for a moment, thoughts whirling in his head. Part of him was relieved that Ram didn’t remember; he wouldn’t wish those memories on anyone. But there was still another, darker, part of him that was jealous. Before he could wrap his brain around that, before he could answer Ram, Mrs. Sweeney popped her head into the living room. “Kurt? It’s Elly. She wants you to come home.” Kurt and Ram looked at each other before they both stood. “I’m going with him,” Ram said needlessly. “Bundle up,” Mrs. Sweeney said. After doing as told, the two boys made their way right next door.

            “Elly?” Kurt called. She wasn’t in the living room anymore. Or the kitchen. Or the bathroom. By the time they reached her room and she wasn’t there, either, Kurt’s lungs were trying to squeeze his heart to bursting. _Where is she? What if? What if? What if?_ He knew he was being irrational—she had asked him to come home, after all—but he couldn’t help it.

            His bones sagged with relief when he opened his own bedroom door and found Elly huddled on his bed, wrapped up in his blankets. “There you are.”

            Elly sniffed and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t say anything, but lumbered off the bed, dragging the blanket behind her, and all but fell into Kurt’s arms. Obviously, Kurt’s relief flooded into worry as he hugged her close. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

            “Don’t feel good. Didn’t want to be home alone.” When she peeked up at him, it finally clicked what had seemed wrong earlier. The poor girl was pale except for the flush of her cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed red and she sniffed every few seconds.

            “Were you not feeling well earlier?” he asked. Elly nodded. Kurt frowned, gently brushing curls away from her face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

            Elly shrugged, bringing her hand up to rub at her nose. A string of snot followed, and she wrinkled her nose but did nothing about it. Kurt sighed and glanced around to find the tissues he usually kept in his room. Finding the box in the trash—he had used the last of them that morning--, he sighed again and wiped it away with the edge of the blanket. “Ram, keep an eye on her while I go grab some stuff?”

            “On it.” Ram moved forward and gently pried Elly away from her brother. Kurt smiled a little when she whined, but turned and hurried out of the room to find…well, tissues. And a thermometer. And cold meds, probably. And water. And, and, and.

            Kurt found the tissues and thermometer, no problem. But the medicine…Kurt made a disgusted noise as he tried to pour some into the little cup and a congealed clump toppled out. _Okay, need to call Dad._ _Ask him to pick some up._ Tossing the medicine into the trash, Kurt snatched up the tissues and thermometer before padding down the hallway to the kitchen. As he passed his room, he could here Ram murmuring something to Elly, and Elly giggling. Smiling a little, he grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and called Paul before returning to the bedroom and pausing in the doorway.

            Ram had since settled on the bed with Elly, who in turn had cozied herself up against him. The two were talking quietly, about what Kurt couldn’t quite hear, but he smiled softly as he watched Ram absently play with Elly’s hair. It would have been nice if Elly wasn’t sniffling every five seconds.

            It also would have been nice if his brain wasn’t trying to have a gay crisis that was only somewhat related to Ram taking care of his sister.

            Clearing his throat, Kurt entered the room. “Here,” he said lamely, tossing the tissues into Elly’s lap. “You’re gonna have to wait for Dad to get home for meds.”

            Elly just nodded as she properly blew her nose. Ram held his hand out for the thermometer. Handing it over, Kurt sat on the other side of Elly and watched as Ram took her temperature.

            Ram clicked his tongue. “Jesus.”

            Kurt bit his lip. “What is it?”

            “Only 99. No chance of that big brain melting.” Ram lightly tapped Elly’s nose. “We thought you were dying or something when you called.”

            Shaking her head, Elly curled up closer to Ram. “Just lonely.”

            “Well, good thing me and Kurt are here to fix that.” Ram wrapped his arm around her and looked at Kurt, a lopsided grin on his face. “Right?”

            It took a moment for Kurt to realize Ram had spoken to him. “Right.”

            Only one thought crossed Kurt’s mind when Ram’s smile softened as he turned his attention back to Elly.

            _God, I’m gay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what year is it
> 
> sorry for taking so long to update, life got in the way. whoops.   
> i also didn't look over this a final time, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know
> 
> come yell at me over at abrasivelysilentnoisemaker@tumblr.com (also let me know what you'd like to see from this fic!!!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is Godzilla a dinosaur?"

           The day Ram was supposed to return to the school, a mini-blizzard all but buried Sherwood and effectively left the town a desolate tundra in its wake. Even Paul, die-hard workaholic that he was, decided it wasn’t worth his while to navigate the icy roads and called off work.

            Kurt himself didn’t mind the snow for three reasons. First—it meant he didn’t have to suffer through school. No shitty classes, no shitty teachers, no shitty classmates. Instead he could stay at home and do absolutely _nothing_.  A good day all around, if you asked him.

            Second—and more importantly, related to his first reason—it meant Ram didn’t have to experience just how _bad_ it was now just yet; between all the jeers and taunts on one end and pity and sympathy on the other, school had become almost unbearable. Kurt had thought it was excruciating before, but boy, now he wished for the good ol’ days when he and Ram were insufferable pricks just looking for a good time.

            Okay, maybe he wished less for being assholes and just the simplicity that was their lives before this whole mess started. Whatever, sue him.

            And the third reason? Elly’s germs seemed to have infected him.

            As such, the Kelly siblings were curled up together on the couch, collectively wrapped in nearly every blanket that they owned as they watched whatever dumb movies just happened to be playing on the television while Paul puttered around the house doing whatever it was that dads did. It wasn’t that they were too tired and achy to put in one of their own movies, but…it was exactly that.

            Plus, Kurt was feeling just plain lazy. He hadn’t moved once since planting himself on the couch that morning, even with the occasional poke and prod from Elly, and, quite frankly, he felt he earned it with the week he’d had. Or month. Or several months, in fact.

            Then again, he wasn’t sure he _could_ move whether he wanted to or not. He’d woken up that morning with a scratchy throat, sore eyes, pounding head, the absolute fucking works, and it only got worse as the day wore on even _with_ the meds and “strict” rest Paul and Elly both insisted he have. It didn’t help that his brain had also decided to act up and was skipping like a drugged lunatic through what he had dubbed Bad Territory Thoughts.

            In short, he was _tired._ And he couldn’t even sleep it off because every time he tried the Bad Territory Thoughts would flow from his brain to his chest and leave his heart sputtering to a halt as his lungs spasmed, which in turn shoved him into a coughing fit. That, of course, made his throat feel like even _more_ metaphorical glass shards were digging into tender flesh.

            It sucked. It really did.

            So instead of wasting energy by moving or attempting to sleep like another certain sick person who just so happened to be sleeping _on his arm_ and now he _couldn’t feel it_ , Kurt was currently stuck watching _Godzilla._ Or at least, his _eyes_ were watching it—his brain had quit processing it ages ago.

            A good thing, considering the _dinosaur_ thing and all, but then again, Kurt couldn’t quite remember just why dinosaurs made him uneasy. _Is Godzilla even a dinosaur or just a giant lizard?_

Before he could follow that train of thought which would inevitably bounce into Bad Territory, the doorbell rang. And rang again. And again. Kurt was going to ignore it in favor of Paul answering the door, but Paul had _apparently_ chosen that moment to make himself scarce. _Useless sack of lard._

            He groaned quietly. “God damn it…c’mon Elly, let go,” he mumbled, trying to extricate his arm from Elly’s grip. After a moment, Elly conceded and flopped down face first into the cushions without even waking up. Impressed, Kurt ruffled her hair before standing on shaky, aching limbs and shuffled to the door. _Please go away_ Kurt thought with a wince as the bell buzzed _again_. His head was pounding enough as it was. In fact, _everything_ hurt. It was almost too much to get to the door with the way everything kept blurring before snapping back into place.

            _Somebody better be dead._

His irritation was immediately forgotten as he opened the door to find Ram standing there, snow dusting his hair and shoulders. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold even though there were only fifty feet, if that, between their front doors. Still, Ram grinned brightly when he saw Kurt—then frowned. “Dude, you look like shit.”

            “You come into _my_ home,” Kurt replied breezily before turning away to cough into the crook of his arm. _Jesus Christ, I can’t even meme without dying anymore_. Grimacing, he looked back to his friend to find Ram’s frown had deepened.

            “I’m not in your home,” Ram pointed out, then stepped inside and closed the door. “Now I am. And now I’m gonna put you to bed.”

            “Kinky,” Kurt muttered under his breath. Thankfully, Ram didn’t hear; he had gotten distracted by the sound of sneezing coming from the couch. Kurt watched as Ram strode over and immediately started fussing over Elly, who had apparently _had_ woken up when he had moved. Good. It meant he could sneak off and—

            “Kurtis Jackson Kelly, get your ass over here,” Ram commanded, not taking his eyes off of Elly.

            “Who are you, my mother?” Kurt said dully before snapping his jaw shut. For a moment, the world around him went hazy again as his brain jolted into Bad Territory, colors blurring together and nearly all sound just…fading. Except for the roar of Godzilla from the t.v.

            _Mother. Mom. Dead. Dinosaur. Dead. Ram. Mom. Ram. Dead. Gunshot—_

“Kurt? Kurt!”

            Kurt took a sharp breath as everything snapped back into place, a rubber band on his psyche, colors where they should be, Elly on the couch looking frightened, Ram—when had Ram moved?

            _What just happened?_ Kurt’s head throbbed as he tried to sluggishly push through the sludge of his mind and piece together what he had even just been _thinking_ about—why couldn’t he _remember—_

Ram was speaking again, standing in front of him with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. “Dude, you’re burning up,” Ram said softly, softer than he had even been talking to Elly, and then Kurt found himself sitting on the couch again with no recollection of how he got there, and Ram was leaving—he was leaving, he was going to—

            Elly pressed herself against his side then, bringing his churning thoughts back down as only Elly could. Latching onto his arm again, she leaned her head on his shoulder. Before he could ask what happened—everything was just—just a _mess_ again—Ram had returned and was kneeling in front of him, making him down some bitter medicine with mild threats to pinch his nose shut if he fought him— _like Mom_ —and pressing the thermometer under his tongue.

            As they waited, Ram offered him a small smile. “You got really pale, dude. Like, I thought you were going to pass out on me.” Kurt tried mumbling an apology around the thermometer, but Ram shushed him before taking it. He clicked his tongue and set it aside.

            “What is it?” Elly asked.

            “Well, if it doesn’t go down, I’m gonna have to take him outside and drop him in a snowbank. But for now…” Ram’s frown relaxed into an easy grin. “What do you think about making a fort? We can just chill out and watch movies. Or keep watching movies.” He glanced at the television. Godzilla roared in response.

            Kurt felt Elly relax against him, felt her nod, felt her pull away. He heard them discussing the best way to build the fort, watched Elly shuffle out of the room. Then Ram was kneeling in front of him with words tumbling out of his mouth ninety miles a minute only to crumble into solitary letters in a pile on the floor.

            Or maybe that was just him. Huh.

            “Okay, since you to already have all the blankets here, I’m going to go help Elly gather pillows and shits or whatever, okay?” Ram was saying. “Will you be okay on your own?”

            He nodded. Or at least he think he did. Either way, the room started spinning a little afterwards. Either way, Ram seemed to accept his response (or lack thereof?) and stood, wincing when his knees popped. Then he was gone.

            Next thing Kurt knew ( _when will time stop skipping?_ ), Ram and Elly were both ushering Kurt to a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor as they finished draping a sheet over the back of the couch. He wasn’t sure how they got it to stay, but they did. Kurt sunk down into the coziness of the nest. God, it felt so much better than the ancient couch. And they had managed to leave the front open so they could see the television.

            Sweet.

            Ram and Elly settled on either side of Kurt in a nice Ram/Kurt/Elly sandwich. Kurt found himself leaning against Ram, found himself tugging Elly closer, found both let him. He smiled to himself. _God, I love them._ Of course he loved Elly; she was his baby sister. But he loved _Ram_.

            And at this moment in time, he couldn’t care about how gay it was. He had more pressing matters to tend to. “Ram?”

            “Yeah, buddy?”

            “Is Godzilla a dinosaur?”

            Ram was quiet for a moment before snickering quietly. “Dude, I think Godzilla’s just a giant fucking lizard.”

            “Isn’t that what a dinosaur is, though?”

            “He’s got a point,” Elly said.

            “Okay, but…” Ram trailed off before shaking his head. “I can’t argue.” He rested his head against Kurt’s. “In that case, I don’t know, dude. I still think he’s just a lizard.”

            “How do you know Godzilla’s a he?” Kurt asked in all seriousness. “He could be a girl lizard. Or dinosaur.”

            “I…don’t know?”

            “‘Kay.” Satisfied with the not-so-satisfactory answer, he simply settled further against Ram and drifted off to the sounds of the movie and Ram and Elly chattering quietly over him.

            All in all, a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never seen a single godzilla movie
> 
> come yell at me over at abrasivelysilentnoisemaker.tumblr.com


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